The Daughter of the Consulting Detective
by Meilodiii
Summary: My name is Sophia Holmes, and I'm the daughter of the world's only consulting detective This is my story, well I say my story, it's actually my father, me, and John Watson's.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything**

The bell rang, signalling the end of the school day, it's the best sound I've heard all day long. I shouldered my bag and strode out the classroom, I managed to make it to the school gate before someone stops me to "socialise."  
"Hey, Soph!"  
I turned but didn't answer, it's Cassie, she likes me for some weird reason, she thinks that my rudeness and cleverness is "sexy" and that my coldness and general disinterest in social situations "mysterious."  
"Do you wanna go to that party today?"  
"Sorry, I've got things to do. I just moved, remember?" I smiled apologetically, a skill I had perfected long ago, she smiled back and walked away, no doubt looking for another prey to go to the party with.  
I breathed out a sign of relief and continued walking, but was stopped yet again.  
"Sophia!" I turned to look at the guy who dares disturb me and immediately rolled my eyes. A group of boys were standing around another boy, punching at him playfully and nudging at me, the boy was called Matt. It was common knowledge in the school that he fancies me. I sent them a cold glare and walked away, hearing the ohh's and ahh's behind me. I shrugged off my blazer as I crossed over school grounds. My uncle, otherwise known as the British Government, had insisted I go to a fancy private school instead of a public one. My father did not see any disadvantages to the solution, and I honestly could not care less, so I'm studying the poshest school in London on a "scholarship."  
I opened the wooden door with the brass numbers "221B" and bounded up the stairs, My father was standing around, tossing some folders into a box and slamming the swiss army knife into a pile of envelopes, that was quite normal, what struck me as abnormal is another man standing beside him, peering curiously at the skull. He turned around when he heard me come in, he was a member of the army with a psychosomatic limp.  
"Oh, may I introduce my daughter, Sophia Holmes." Dad says, gesturing to me absentmindedly,  
"John Watson." The man says, and shook my hand, "Pleasure to meet you."  
"Pleasure's mine." I said, smiling at him, "Umm, could you excuse me for a second, I want a word with my father."  
I pulled Dad away without waiting for a reply and we stood on the porch,  
"Who is this John Watson, are you seriously thinking about your teenage daughter sharing a flat with an ex-soldier?" I hissed at him,  
"He's an ex-army doctor," He said calmly, "And you know we won't be able to afford the flat on our own."  
I glared at him, and he looked back at me passively. See, I take after my father on quite a lot of things, sarcasm, wit, deduction skills amongst others, I'm just not as good at deduction skills than him, the one thing I'm better at than him is people skills. I happen to know when I've offended someone, I just generally don't care.  
Just then, Mrs. Hudson entered the flat and he followed her in, so naturally I had to follow him in. Dr. Watson was still examining the skull with interest,  
"What do you think, then, Doctor Watson? There's another bedroom upstairs if you'll be needing two bedrooms."  
I snorted into my tea that Mrs. Hudson had brought up, my father, Sherlock Holmes, a boyfriend? Hasn't Mrs. Hudson known Dad for long enough to know that the number of acquaintances he has could be counted with one hand.  
"Of course we'll be needing two." Dr. Watson says, frowning, that poor man,  
"Oh, don't worry, there's all sorts round here." Oh, Mrs. Hudson, you'll never give up, will you? "Mrs. Turner next door's got married ones."  
Dr. Watson glances at Dad expectantly, probably waiting for him to deny their relationship, but he did not seem to notice, I happen to know that he does not care.  
"So, Dr. Watson?" I decided to ease the awkwardness, or at least attempt to do so,  
"John, please." He said, turning to me, I raised my eyebrows, what kind of man wants to be called John by a 16-year-old? To be honest, I only called him Dr. Watson because it's his first day, I start to call people by their first names by the second day, I did not like to be treated like a child.  
"Afghanistan or Iraq?" I inquired.  
"Um... Afghanistan." He answered, a little bewildered, "Your father asked the same question."  
"Oh, did he now?" I pretended to be surprised, "What do you think of the flat?"  
"Oh, it's quite nice. Quite nice." He mused over it, then turned to Dad, "I looked you up on the internet last night."  
Oh, I've got to hear this.  
"Anything interesting?" Dad turned around to face him,  
"Found your website, The Science of Deduction."  
"What did you think?" He said, smiling proudly, which is one of the smiles he is capable of, the others being fake smiles, smug smiles, menacing smiles, there's-been-a-murder smile, and the occasional happiness smiles.  
"You said you could identify a software designer by his tie and an airline pilot by his left thumb." He said doubtfully, Dad looks a little hurt,  
"Yeah. And we can read your military career from your face and your leg." I said, stepping in. If he was going to be like the other guys and insult my father, he has to come through me first.  
Dad smiled, "And I can see your brother's drinking habits from your mobile phone."  
"How?" John turned to me, then looked back to Dad. He smiled mysteriously and turned away, John turned to me then, expecting an explanation, but I looked in my tea mug and took a sip.  
"What about those suicides then, Sherlock? I thought that'd be right up your street. Three exactly the same." Mrs. Hudson walked in, clutching the newspaper. I took it from her and glanced at it,  
"Four." Dad says, looking out the window, "There's been a fourth. And there's something different this time."  
"A fourth?" I inquired, and the answer came through the door. D.I. Lestrade, our dear old friend, came into the living room.  
"Hey Sophia," He acknowledged me, he absolutely adores me for unfathomable reasons.  
"Where?" Dad asked,  
"Brixton, Lauriston Gardens."  
"What's new about this one? You wouldn't have come to get me if there wasn't something different.'  
"You know how they never leave notes?"  
"Yeah."  
"This one did. Will you come?" I looked up, and I knew Dad's next question,  
"Who's on forensics?" Ding ding ding, right answer.  
"Anderson."  
"Anderson won't work with me." Dad grimaced, the two absolutely loathed each other.  
"I need an assistant."  
"You have Sophia." Lestrade pointed out.  
Excuse me, I am not my father's assistant!  
"I am not yours or anyone's assistant." I said bluntly.  
"Will you come?" Lestrade chose to ignore me, a wise choice, really.  
"Not in a police car, I'll be right behind." I could almost hear the excitement bubbling in Dad's body, and mine also.  
"Thank you." Lestrade signed in relief, and walked out the door.  
"Brilliant! Yes! Ah, four serial suicides, and now a note! Oh, it's Christmas!" Dad says, jumping up happily like a little kid. I knew that I was the picture of calmness, well I wasn't, I must've a huge grin across my face, but I was equally as excited as my Dad.  
"Mrs. Hudson, I'll be late. Might need some food, come on, Sophia!"  
"I'm your landlady, dear, not your housekeeper."  
"Something cold will do. John, have a cup of tea, make yourself at home. Don't wait up! Sophia, Hurry!" He said rapidly and dashed out the door, I followed, pulling on my coat and throwing the newspaper on the table, as well as setting down my mug.  
Drat, I haven't changed out of my uniform yet.  
Dad stopped in front of the door abruptly when the sound of John's angry voice echoed down to the front door,  
"Damn my leg!"  
I snapped my head and looked up, Dad seems to think to himself for a moment and went back upstairs. A moment later, Dad came back downstairs, but this time with John.  
I raised an eyebrow at Dad, but he ignored me and hailed a cab.

"Okay, you've got questions." I said, unable to continue watching John glance nervously at Dad, who was staring intently on his phone, I turned slightly so I was facing John,  
"Yeah, where are we going?"  
"Crime scene." I said simply, secretly enjoying John's uncomfortableness, "Next."  
"Okay, who are you? What do you do?" John asked, then reconsidered, "What does your father do and who is your father?"  
"What do you think?" Dad had finally lowered his phone, and looked in at our conversation with interest,  
"I'd say private detective..." John said hesitantly,  
"But?" I prompted.  
"The police don't go to private detectives."  
"He is a consulting detective, only one in the world. He invented the job." I said, "And in answer to your previous question, I am the daughter of the world's only consulting detective."  
"What does that mean?"  
"It means that I am this man's daughter." I said, hiding a smile.  
"No, not that." John clarified, he could tell that I was teasing him, though, "What does a consulting detective mean?"  
"It means when the police are out of their depth, which is usually the case, they come to Dad and I."  
"The police don't consult amateurs."  
Dad threw him one of his icy looks.  
"When I met you for the first time yesterday, I said, 'afghanistan or Iraq?' You looked surprised."  
"Yes, how did you know?"  
"I didn't know, I saw." Dad said, then looked at me pointedly.  
"Let me guess... Haircut?" I eyed John carefully, "And...the posture?"  
"Yes, and when you entered the lab, you said 'bit different from my day,' so trained at Barts, Army doctor, obviously. Your face is tanned, but not above the wrist. You've been abroad by not sunbathing. Your limp's really bad when you walk but you don't ask for a chair when you stand, like yo've forgotten about it, so it's at least partly psychosomatic. That says the original circumstances of the injury were traumatic. Wounded in action, then. Wounded in action, suntan, Afghanistan or Iraq."  
Dad's speech has the same affect on everyone, doubt, a very very brief amazement, then anger.  
"You said I had a therapist." Here we are, doubt.  
"You've got a psychosomatic limp, of course you've got a therapist." I pointed out.  
"Then there's your brother."  
"Hmm?"  
"Your phone." Dad held out his hand and John handed him his phone. Dad inspected it then handed it to me, "Care to make a deduction, Sophia?"  
"With pleasure." I took the phone and flipped it over, I inspected the phone carefully, reading between the lines.  
"Well, it's expensive, you're looking for a flatshare, won't waste your money, so it's a gift." I paused and looked at John, who was eyeing the phone in my hand curiously, "Scratches. A lot of scratches. The man beside me would not treat his one luxury item like this, so it's a hand-me-down. Then the engraving."  
"Harry Watson, from Clara, xxx." John recited.  
"Harry Watson, a family member who's given you his old phone. Bit too young a phone for a father, could be a cousin, but you can't find a place to live, so unlikely you've got an extended family, at least not one close enough to give you his phone, so brother. Clara, who's Clara? Three kisses, romantic attachment, expensive phone so wife, not girlfriend. The model is only six months old, marriage in trouble then. If she'd left him, he would've kept it, sentiments, but he wanted to get rid of it, he left her." I took a breath, and looked up to see John's shock face and Dad's proud smile, "He gave the phone to you, he wants to keep in touch. You're looking for a place to live, but you're not going to your brother, you've got problems with him. Probably you liked his wife?"  
"No, you don't like his drinking." Dad said, and took the phone from my hands.  
"The drinking?" John asked, "How can you know that?"  
"Power connection, tiny scuff marks around the edge of it. Every night he goes in to plug it in to charge but his hands were shaking..."  
"Never see a sober man's phone with them, never see a drunk's without them." I continued. Dad smirked and gave John his phone back.  
"You were right." I said, smirking,  
"I was right, right about what?" There, brief amazement.  
"The police don't consult amateurs."  
Both me and Dad tensed as we waited for the next reaction, anger.  
"That...was amazing." John said. We both froze, Dad turned his head around and looked at John, I looked at the two of them.  
"Do you think so?" Dad asked,  
"Of course it was. It was extraordinary, quite extraordinary." I could feel a huge grin spreading across my face, and I looked at Dad.  
"That's not what people normally say."  
"What do people normally say?"  
"Piss off!" I said, and laughed. John joined in briefly, Dad grinned and looked out the window.

**Review!**

**Also, I know this is exactly the same from Meilodi's work, and I'll explain again, I am Meilodi, refused to work on that account so I got a new one.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

"Anything wrong?" I asked as we got off the cab, Dad payed and looked at John, we walked towards the police tape.

"Harry and me don't get along, never have. Clara and Harry split up three months ago and are getting a divorce. And Harry is a drinker."

"Spot on then, didn't expect to get everything right."

"And Harry's short for Harriet." Both Dad and I stopped in our tracks,

"Harry's your sister." I said, and turned to look at Dad.

"Look, what exactly am I supposed to be doing here?" John asked, continuing on,

"Sister!" Dad spitted out furiously and through clenched teeth, it's always a tiny bit amusing when Dad get's something wrong.

"No, seriously, what am I doing here?"

I jogged a little to catch up to John, leaving Dad to mourn over his mistake.

"There's always something." Dad said, exasperated, and we reached the police tape to be greeted by a truly delightful Sally Donovan.

"Hello, freak." She glanced pointedly at Dad, then at me, "And freak's daughter."

"Hello, Sally." I said, smiling an award winning smile, "We're here to see Detective Inspector Lestrade."

"Why?"

"We were invited." Dad said. Sally glanced at Dad, annoyed. Me and Dad continue each other's sentences easily, since we have such similar minds, and it annoys some less intellectual people *cough* Donovan *cough* to no end.

"Why?"

"I think he wants us to take a look." I said sarcastically.

"Well, you know what I think, don't you."

Dad ducked underneath the tape, I followed quickly behind,

"Always, Sally." Dad said, smiling, then took a deep breath through his nose, I smirked, "I even know you didn't make it home last night."

"I don't..." Failing to come up with something, she glanced at John, "Well, who's this?"

"Colleague of mine, Doctor Watson." Dad turned to John, "Doctor Watson, Sergeant Sally Donovan. Old friend."

"A colleague? How do you get a colleague other than your freak daughter?" She laughed, I rolled my eyes, seriously, does this woman have nothing to do but laugh at people much smarter than her? "What, did he follow you home?"

"Would it be better if I just waited and..."

"Absolutely not." I said, and lifted up the tape, John struggled to get under it, since I'm shorter than him, but he managed.

"Freak and daughter's here. Bringing them in." Sally talked into the radio.

We managed to get to the front door before we were barred by another obstacle, this time in the form of a hideous creature, otherwise known as Anderson.

"Ah, Anderson. Here we are again." Dad said, and Anderson eyed him distastefully,

"It's a crime scene. I don't want it contaminated. Are we clear on that?"

"Quite clear." I said, then took a deep breath, "Is your wife away for long?"

"Oh, like father like daughter. Don't pretend you worked that out, somebody told you that, you gossiping-"

"Don't you dare continue that sentence." Dad said furiously, his teeth clenched and glaring at Anderson.

"Something did tell me, Anderson." I said, after Anderson had recovered from Dad's eruption of anger, "Your deodorant told me that."

"My deodorant?"

"It's for men." I said, with a quirky smile and raising my eyebrows, I'm enjoying every single second of humiliating Anderson.

"Of course it's for men. I'm wearing it!"

"So is Sergeant Donovan." I said, Anderson looked at Sally in shock, and I sniffed again.

"Oh, it just vaporised... May we go in?"

"Now look, whatever you're trying to imply..." Anderson said and pointed at me threateningly,

"She's not implying anything and it's hardly polite to point your finger at a young woman, don't you think?" Dad said, and draped his arm over my shoulders.

"I'm sure Sally came round for a nice little chat, and just happened to stay over." Dad said, and guided me towards the front door, John trailed behind us. Dad looked at me and winked,

"And I assume she scrubbed your floors, going by the state of her knees." I said smugly, and we entered the door. Anderson and Donovan stared after us in horror, John walked past and looked pointedly at her knees.

"You need to wear one of these." I said, and held the disgusting coverall towards John.

"Who's this." Lestrade asked, pulling on his own coverall,

"He's with me."

"But who is he?"

"I said he's with me."

"Sophia, I'm sorry, but I can't allow you to go up."

"And why is that?" I turned so I was fully facing Lestrade and placed my hands on my hips, cocking my head to the side.

"A crime scene is hardly the place for a young woman..." Lestrade said but trailed off at my glare.

"What is this, 1895?" I snarled, Lestrade has a principle that he works with, and unfortunately one of those principles is to treat a woman the same way a knight in a shiny armour would. "And you let me in last time."

"Well, this one is different, Sophia." Lestrade said in a coaxing tone, I hate it when he does that, I'm not a child.

"How so?"

"Well, last time it was a break in, this time there's an actual body."

"So?"

"It's not exactly a healthy image for such a young age."

"Oh please, Lestrade. I am the daughter of Sherlock Holmes, I've seen much worse than a dead body."

"But..." Lestrade looked close to wringing his hands, but instead he slipped on his latex gloves for something to do, "I'm already breaking every rule letting your father in, I can't let a teenage girl in a crime scene!"

"Sophia, I will fill you in later, OK?" Dad coaxed. I glared at him, but he only smirked. We both know that Lestrade was immovable, but I hate this sitting outside treatment.

I glared at Lestrade, who looked away, and I leaned against the doorway, pulled out my phone and ignored any further attempts at making conversations or apologies at me.

The three of them went up the stairs, and I slowly felt my rage subside inside me. Anderson smirked as he passed me on his way upstairs.

"I see, waiting for your father, aren't you?"

'No, I'm doing some research for him." I replied, smiling sweetly,

"What research?" Anderson asked.

"Oh, nothing much. Just the behaviour patterns of idiotic police officers and whatnot."

Anderson huffed angrily, and walked up the stairs.

A few minutes later, Dad came blundering down the stairs, I looked up and saw Lestrade and John leaning over the railings and looking at Dad.

"Suitcase! Did anyone find a suitcase? Was there a suitcase in this house?" Dad hollered as he leapt down the stairs three at a time. I straightened up and got ready to follow him out.

"Sherlock, there was no case!" Lestrade, in his usual exasperated voice, called out to Dad, leaning over the railings with John.

"But they take the poison themselves; they chew, swallow the pills themselves. There are clear signs, even you lot couldn't miss them." Dad said, slowing down slightly but still going alarmingly fast.

"Right, yeah, thanks. And…?"

"It's murder, all of them. I don't know how, but they're not suicides, they're killings- serial killings." Dad smiled and I could feel a grin spread over my face, A Serial Killer!

"We've got ourselves a serial killer. I love those. There's always something to look forward to."

"Why are you saying that?" Lestrade asked, seriously, is that a question you ask Dad after knowing him for so long?

"Her case! Come on, where is her case? Did she eat it? Someone else was here, and they took her case." Dad called up to John and Lestrade, "So the killer must have driven her here; forgot the case was in the car."

"She could have checked into a hotel, left her case there." John offered, he seemed even more confused than I am, and I have not a single clue what's going on.

"No, she never got to the hotel. Look at her hair. She colour coordinates her lipstick and her shoes, she'd never left any hotel with her hair still looking…"

Dad paused, "Oh! Oh!"

"Sherlock?" John asked.

"What is it, what?"

"Serial killers are always hard. You have to wait for them to make a mistake." Dad said, smiling cheerfully, the very image of improper behaviour at a crime scene.

"We can't just wait!"

"Oh, we're done waiting!" Dad said, and started running down the steps again. "Look at her, really look!" As if anyone except the Holmes can do that. "Houston, we have a mistake. Get on to Cardiff, find out who Jennifer Wilson's family and friends were. Find Rachel!"

"Of course, yeah. But what mistake?"

Dad dashed back into their view and yelled, "Pink!"

Then he took off, I ran after him.

"So, what's with the pink?"

"Jennifer Wilson, unhappily married, string of lovers, the sorts." Dad explained, we were walking down a dark alley, the brick walls covered with graffiti, and the mysterious stench of streets like this filled the air around us. "From Cardiff, dressed in appalling amounts of pink."

"Member of the media?"

"Yeah." Dad said, smiling, "And she scratched 'R-a-c-h-e' into the floorboards."

"German?" I offered, "Revenge?"

"Unlikely, Rachel."

"Oh." I said, and a silence fell between us, Dad was looking inside every nook and cranny we came across. He turned back as we came to a split that lead to two narrow alleys. "So, what are we looking for?"

"A pink suitcase. Small one."

"OK."

For the next forty minutes, we scourged the alleyways of the surrounding area of the crime scene, looking for a pink suitcase. We finally found it in a dumpster, and Dad made me carry it back so he can put his hands in his coat pockets and look cool.

As soon as we arrived at the flat, Dad located the nicotine patched in my old Algebra textbook where Mrs. Hudson had hidden them and plopped down on the sofa to enter his mind palace.

**REVIEW!**

**Sorry, I kinda forgot about this...**


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

"Sophia, text the number on the table."

"Do it yourself."

I munched on the biscuit that Mrs. Hudson had brought up along with the lecture of how a teenage girl should be eating more often and how skinny I am. Dad signed dramatically, typed into his blackberry, and continued to explore his mind palace. An hour later, John climbed up the stairs, he seemed about to say something, but stopped when he heard the strangely erotic gasp of my father.

"What are you doing?"

"Nicotine patch, helps me think." Dad replied,

"Lestrade threatened to stop letting Dad help with his cases unless he quit."

"Quit what?"

"Something a doctor would not like to hear about." Sherlock said, then gestured towards the table with his head, "Can I borrow your phone?"

"Wait, what is it exactly that you were…addicted to?"

"Cigarettes, amongst other things." I said casually, kicking his slipper where he kept his secret stash, John looked at me alarmingly, and I raised my hands, "Don't worry, he was always sane enough to keep me from it, not that I would be keen to be hooked onto something, I'm much cleverer than him in the ways of keeping ones sanity and being rational. We balance each other out. Sort of."

"Yeah, lovely chit chat. Now, can I borrow your phone?"

"My phone? Sophia's got a phone, Mrs. Hudson's got a phone."

"Sophia won't do it, I tried shouting but Mrs. Hudson didn't hear."

"I was on the other side of town, you called me here to use my phone?" John said, beginning to get angry.

"There was no hurry." Dad said calmly. I snorted, Dad can never see what's wrong about his various requests.

"Here." John said, digging out his phone, his face a mask of exasperation, I was starting to think that it would become his permanent expression, poor man.

"So what's with the case?" He asked Dad, who ignored him, he then turned to me.

"Her case, the murderer's first mistake, taking her suitcase with him."

"So, he took her case. Wait, how do you know it'll be a he?"

"Balance of probability, my dear Watson." I smiled at him, "I'm a staunch supporter against sexism, but brutal murderers are usually male."

"OK…"

"John, I need you to text this number."

"You brought me here to send a text." John said angrily, I pity the man, at least he's not yelling profanities yet, he broke the record of the senile old man living in the cardboard box at the tube station.

"Text, yes. On my desk, there's a number." Dad said, and held out John's phone. John glowered at him, then at me.

"Couldn't you have done it, Sophia? Is it seriously necessary to call me over from across the town?"

"I am not my father's assistant."

"And I am?"

"Don't worry, he views everyone as his assistant."

John stomped over and snatched the phone, but instead of going to the table, he looked out of the window, nice self control, most people would have been either whimpering and texting at the same time or throwing the phone out of the window and stomping off the stairs by now.

"Just met a friend of yours." John said finally, I looked up while Dad frowned from the sofa,

"A friend?"

"An enemy."

"Oh, which one?" Dad asked casually.

"Arch-enemy, according to him." He turned towards me, he finally figured out that any backstory would have to come from me and not from Dad. "Do people have arch-enemies."

"Would you count my father as people?"

Dad spoke up now, "Did he offer you money to spy on me?"

"Yes."

"Did you take it?"

"No."

"Pity. We could've split the fee. Think it through next time."

"Who is he?" But Dad decided that he had answered enough meaningless questions today.

"The British government, otherwise known as-" I started, but Dad caught me off.

"And entirely not my problem now. On the desk, the number."

John glanced at Dad, sending a dagger, which glanced off his shield of not-caring-ness, and he picked up the paper from the luggage label.

"Jennifer Wilson. That was… Hang on, wasn't that the dead woman?"

"Yes. That's not important, just enter the number."

John shook his head but did what he was told, I greatly admire his self control.

"Are you doing it?"

"Yes."

"Hang you done it?

"Ye… Hang on!"

My admiration for his self control had grown considerably.

"These words exactly, 'What happened at Lauriston Gardens? I must've blacked out.'"

John looked at Dad, probably wondering when he blacked out or just confused.

"'Twenty-two Northumberland Street. Please come.'"

"You blacked out?" John asked, confirming my hypothesis.

"What? No, no!" Dad clambered over the coffee table and joined me with in front of the open suitcase on a chair, "Type it and send it. Quickly."

"What's the address again?"

"22 Northumberland Street." I reminded him. He finished typing, and turned to look at what we were looking at.

"That's…that's the pink lady's case. That's Jennifer Wilson's case."

"Yes, obviously." Dad said, rifling through the contents of the case. John continued to stare at him.

"Oh, perhaps I should mention, I didn't kill her."

"I never said you did."

"Why not? Given the text you just sent and the fact that I have her case, it's perfectly logical."

"Do people usually assume you're the murderer?"

I snorted, oh John, you have no idea.

"Now and then, yes." More like almost every time.

John limped over to the other armchair and dropped heavily into it.

"How did you get this?

"We looked through every back street wide enough for a car five minutes from Lauriston Gardens, took us less than half an hour." I said, "The case had to be pink, and as I have mentioned before, the killer is most likely a male, a man would look pretty weird carrying a pink overnight suitcase."

"You got all that because you realised the case is pink?

"It had to be pink, obviously." I said, smiling. I exited the sitting room to go to my room to change out of my school uniform, rummaging through bins does not improve the state of your clothing. I chuckled at their faded conversation, practically everyone is an idiot indeed.

I only did the first one-third of my homework, then every other one after that. A lot of teachers are not bothered to check more than half the questions, and most teachers are willing to cut me some slack for me due to the British Government and my general personality along with my…should I say, intelligence.

"Sophia! We're going out!"

I rushed down the stairs, Dad and John are still talking,

"Well, you could just sit there and watch telly."

"What, you want me to come with you?"

Dad didn't reply,

"Come on, it'll be fun!" I said, smiling at him while shrugging on my coat,

"A dead woman and serial killer and you call it fun?"

"Problem?"


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

"So, Northumberland Street?" I asked Dad, who's walking very fast in order to have billowing coat.

"It's five minutes away."

"You think he's stupid enough to go there?" John asked, we both looked at him.

"No, I think he's brilliant enough. Brilliant ones are always so desperate to get caught." Dad smiled his there's a murderer smile.

"Why?"

"Oh, John." I sighed dramatically, "The frailty of genius, it needs an audience. Look at Dad, for example."

"Yeah."

Dad ignored me, he gestured around, "This is his hunting ground, right here in the heart of the city. Now that we know his victims were abducted, that changes everything." He raised his fingers to his temples, entering his mind palace, "Think! Who do we trust, even though we don't know them? Who passes unnoticed wherever they go? Who hunts in the middle of a crowd?"

"Dunno. Who?" John asked, I shrugged.

"Haven't the faintest, hungry?"

We walked into Angelo's restaurant, and sat down at the table by the window.

"That's 22 Northumberland Street, isn't?" I pointed at a building.

"Keep your eyes on it.'"

"He's not going to walk up to it, though, is he? He'd need to be mad."

"He has killed four people, John"

Angelo came to the table just then, smiling broadly and handing out menus.

"Sherlock." They shook hands, then he turned to me, "Sophia! You've grown taller!"

"Angelo, we saw each other last week." I said, shaking his hand, I like this guy, he's always so enthusiastic.

"Anything on the menu, whatever you want, free." He looked at John, "On the house, for you two and your date."

I'm pretty sure he thought John was Dad's date, cause he'd be mental and a tiny bit mad if he thought John was my date.

"Do you want to eat?" Sherlock asked John, I turned to look at John, waiting for his reaction to being called Dad's date.

"I'm not his date."

"Your date got me off a murder charge." Angelo said proudly, choosing to ignore John.

"This is Angelo." Dad said, and John shook his hand. "Three years ago I successfully proved to Lestrade at the time of a particularly vicious triple murder that Angelo was in a completely different part of town, house-breaking."

I smiled, I remembered that case, it was a wonderful break from boredom, and I actually managed to sneak into the rather gruesome crime scene when Lestrade wasn't looking.

"He cleared my name."

"I cleared it a bit. Anything happening opposite?"

"Nothing." He looked at John again, "But for this man, I'd have gone to prison."

"You did go to prison." This statement was promptly ignored.

"I'll get a candle for the table, more romantic."

I laughed into my glass, Angelo acted as if he owed Dad a life debt, and he never shies away from Dad, no matter how weird he was acting.

"I'm no this date!" John cried indignantly as Angelo walked away.

"You may as well eat. We might have a long wait."

"You're not eating?"

Dad didn't answer.

"Are you eating?" He asked me, I nodded. He nodded, satisfied that he will not be the only one eating at this table.

Angelo came back with a small, as well as rather pathetic, candle and a thumbs up to John.

"Thanks."

"So who's your arch enemy?

"Sorry?"

"Your arch enemy, who did I meet?" He took a bite, "You know, real people don't have arch enemies."

"Don't they? Dull."

"Who did I meet? Did you say the British Government?" He turned to me momentarily.

"What do 'real' people have, then?"

"Friends, people they know, people they like, people they don't like…girlfriends, boyfriends…"

"Yes, well, as I was saying- dull."

"You don't have a girlfriend, then?" He asked Dad, then looked at me, "A wife?"

"Girlfriend? No, not really my area."

"Mm." John continued to eat. I smiled and suppressed a giggle.

"Oh, right. D'you have a boyfriend?"

I giggled while Dad looked at him sharply.

"Which is fine, by the way." John said hurriedly.

"I know it's fine."

"So you've got a boyfriend?"

"No."

John smiled, albeit awkwardly.

"Right, ok. So you're unattached, sort of," John frowned, probably a bit confused about where I came from, and whether having a daughter counts as unattached, "Like me."

Dad eyed him suspiciously as he continued to eat. I mentally rolled my eyes, I knew what was coming, Dad almost always over analyses what people say.

"John, um…" Dad said rapidly and awkwardly, "I think you should know that I consider myself married to my work, and while I'm flattered by your interest, I'm really not looking for any…"

"No." John looked up, a bit alarmed, "No, I'm not asking. No."

I looked at Dad's startled expression, and eyed John's red face.

"I'm just saying, it's all fine."

Dad nodded, "Good. Thank you."

John looked down at his plate with a bemused expression, then turned towards me,

"So where did you come from?"

"I'm from London." I chirped,

"No, I mean, who's your mother?"

"Look across the street. Taxi." Dad said abruptly, we both twisted in our seats to look at the taxi parked at the side of the road.

"Stopped. Nobody getting in, and nobody getting out."

In the backseat, a man was looking out the window as if searching for something.

"Why a taxi? Oh, that's clever. Is it clever? Why is it clever?"

"That's him?" I asked, peering out the window,

"Don't stare."

"You're staring." I pointed out,

"We can't all stare."

Then, Dad jumped up, dressed himself in his billowing coat, and ran out the door, John followed him close behind. I sighed, Dad never allowed me to join in on wild chases across London, he says that while my skills are sufficient, there's no shortage of people who will be wiling to take advantage of my gender and my physical weakness. Sure, I'm a black belt in Karate, but hey, protective (kind of?) fathers. Instead, I walked home while I called John.

"Hello?" John huffed into his phone,

"Hello, John. This is Sophia."

"Sophia? Where are you?"

"Not now, John. There's a staircase to your left, turn left and climb up"

"What? Why?"

"John, do you trust me?"

"Um. Not really."

"Ouch, John, ouch." I said sarcastically, "Do you trust me more than Dad?"

"I suppose so."

"Then turn LEFT!" I shouted into the phone,

"OK…I…turned…left." John panted,

"John, stop talking, now go down the fire escape and turn right."

"And then?"

"Keep running, then jump down-" My phone was snatched out of my hand, "Hey!"

I looked up, and there was the last face I though would have the nerve to show up at 221B, Anderson.

"What are you doing here?" I snapped, twisting his wrist and making him release the phone into my palm, he hung up, great.

"Oww," Anderson keened at his wrist, I only twisted it, "What did you do to my wrist?"

"I only twisted it. Now, what are you doing here?" I asked, then I noticed a number of officers around the flat, rummaging through Dad's stuff and Lestrade strode in proudly.

"Lestrade, what are you doing here?"

"Hi Sophia," Lestrade plopped into Dad's armchair, I narrowed my eyes at him.

"Look, Sophia, don't be mad." Lestrade coaxed, "Your Dad can't withhold evidence like this!"

"So you break into our flat?"

"It's a drugs bust." I raised an eyebrow at him, and he at least had the decency to look embarrassed, signing, I plopped myself down by the window, and started leafing through a book, ignoring Lestrade's guilty glances at my direction.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

The front door open, after what seemed like an eternity with Lestrade and his idiotic officers, Dad and John had finally returned. I can hear their footsteps, John lost his limp, I smiled, nothing like running through London chasing a criminal to lose your psychosomatic limp. The door slammed open as if on cue and Dad stormed in.

"What are you doing?"

"Dad, it's a drugs bust." I said, not looking up from my book.

"Seriously? This guy, a junkie? Have you met him?" John exclaimed, I looked up nervously,

"John…" I warned, Dad bit his lips,

"I'm pretty sure if you search this flat all day, you wouldn't find anything you could call recreational." John said to Lestrade, ignoring both mine and Dad's warning glance.

"John, you probably want to shut up now."

"Yeah, but come on…" John stopped, and he looked into Dad's eyes for a very long long time.

"No."

"What?"

"You?"

"Shut up!"

Dad turned to Lestrade, "I'm not your sniffer dog."

"No, Anderson's my sniffer dog." Lestrade gestured towards the kitchen, where Anderson was getting his filthy hands all over our counter, I hope he puts his hands in the green jar. He raised his hands in a sarcastic greeting, and I resisted the urge to punch his stupid face.

"Anderson, what are you doing here on a drugs bust?" Dad shouted angrily,

"Oh, I volunteered."

"They all did, they're not strictly speaking on the drugs squad, but they're very keen." Lestrade said. I'm sure they are, Lestrade, I'm sure they are.

"Are these human eyes?" Donovon walks in with a jar,

"Put those back!' Dad snapped at her.

"They were in the microwave!"

"It's an experiment."

"Oh, and Sally?" I said, tossing my book aside and conveniently hitting a office's backside, "Just so you know, those are soaked in sulphuric acid, I would't touch it if I were you."

She nearly dropped the jar.

"Keep looking, guys." Lestrade called out, "Or you could help us properly and I'll stand them down."

"This is childish." Dad paced around angrily, his footsteps like a ticking bomb.

"Well, I'm dealing with a child. Sherlock, this is our case. I'm letting you in, but you do not go off on your own. Clear?"

"Oh, what, so you set up a pretend drugs bust to bully me?"

"It stopped being pretend if they find anything." Oh, trust me, Lestrade. If your police officers can find something that Dad doesn't want to be found, you wouldn't be needing Dad to come in for every other case you have.

"I am clean!" Dad shouted.

"Is your flat? All of it?" No. Mrs. Hudson has her "herbal soothers."

"I don't even smoke." He all but ripped off his sleeve to reveal his nicotine patch.

"Neither do I." Lestrade does the same.

"So let's work together. We've found Rachel."

"Who is she?"

"Jennifer Wilson's only daughter."

"Her daughter? Why would she write her daughter's name? Why?"

'Never mind that, we found the case." Anderson appeared again with his ugly face and pointed at the pink suitcase, "According to someone, the murderer has the case, and we found it in the hands of our favourite psychopath."

"I'm not a psychopath, Anderson. I'm a high-functioning sociopath, do your research." Dad fired at Anderson, then he turned to Lestrade, "You need to bring Rachel in, you need to question her, I need to question her."

"She's dead."

"Excellent!" That is not alright, Dad, saying excellent when you learn that someone's dead is not alright. "How, when and why? Is there a connection? There has to be."

"Well, I doubt it, since she's been dead for fourteen years. Technically she was never alive. Rachel was Jennifer Wilson's stillborn daughter, fourteen years ago."

John grimaces, I looked down in fake sympathy, while Dad looked confused.

"No, that's…that's not right. How… Why would she do that? Why?"

"Why would she think of her daughter in her last moments? Yup, sociopath, I'm seeing it now."

"If you would like to try scratching a name into a floorboard while you are slowly dying, Anderson, I would be happy to help you experience that sensation." I seethed and glared at Anderson, who cleverly retreated back into the kitchen.

"You said that the victims all took the poison themselves, that he makes them take it. Well, maybe he…I don't know, talks to them? Maybe he used the death of her daughter somehow." John broke the tense silence that my comment had created.

"Yeah, but that was ages ago.. Why would she still be upset?"

Dad, seriously, you can't say something like that out loud.

"Not good?" Dad glanced at me, I nodded slowly.

"Yeah, it if you were dying, if you'd been murdered, in your very last few seconds what would you say?" He turned to John, he didn't bother asking me, he knew I would come up with a snarky response, and he was right.

"Please, God, let me live." John said without a hint of hesitation.

"Oh, use your imagination!" Dad said, exasperated, ignoring the slow shake of my head.

"I don't have to." Dad paused, blinked, and continued.

"Yeah, but if you were clever, really clever… Jennifer Wilson running all those lovers, she was clever." Dad paced rapidly.

"She could be trying to tell us something." I added. Mrs. Hudson came into the living room,

"Isn't the doorbell working? Your taxi's here, Sherlock." I am fairly certain the doorbell is in the oven.

"I didn't order a taxi, go away."

"Oh dear, they're making such a mess, what are they looking for?"

"It's a drugs bust, Mrs. Hudson." John explained. I smiled.

"But they're just for my hip. They're herbal soothers." Yeah, right, Mrs. Hudson.

"Shut up, everybody, shut up!" Dad stopped pacing and shouted out, "Don't move, don't speak, don't breathe. I'm trying to think. Anderson, face the other way. You're putting me off."

"What? My face is?" Yes it is, Anderson, it is very disturbing.

"Everybody quiet and still. Anderson, turn your back." Lestrade issued the order, though I haven't encountered anyone who didn't do as Dad said when he used that tone.

"Oh, for God's sake!"

"Your back, now, please!" Anderson reluctantly turned around. Ah, the scenery just got much better.

"Come on, think. Quick!" Dad muttered to himself.

"What about your taxi?" Mrs. Hudson asked.

"MRS. HUDSON!" He turned and shouted at the poor woman, who turned and hurried down the stairs.

"Oh. Ah, she was clever, clever, yes!" Dad smiled, "She's cleverer than you lot and she's dead. Do you see, do you get it? She didn't lose her phone, she never lost it. She planted it on him."

I gasped, "So she left her phone with the murderer! So she can lead us to him!"

"But how?"

"What do you mean, how?"

Lestrade shrugged.

"Rachel!" Dad shouted.

"Rachel? The…password?" I asked. Dad nodded, then looked around at the numerous clueless faces around us.

"Oh, look at you lot. You're all so vacant. Is it nice not being me? It must be so relaxing." Dad said, "Rachel is not just a name."

"Then what?" That was John, by the way.

"E-mail address, John." I urged, while Dad went over to his desk to pull his laptop out of the mess. "On the luggage label."

John read out the email address.

"She didn't have a laptop, which means she did her business on her phone, so it's a smartphone, it's e-mail enabled." I said, fishing out my phone to show them, semi-sarcastically.

"And the password…Rachel." Dad said, typing everything in with a flourish.

"So we can read her emails, so what?" Anderson sneered.

"Anderson, don't talk out loud. You lower the I.Q. of the whole street. We can do much more than just read her emails. It's a smartphone, it's got GPS. Which means if you lose it you can locate it online. She's leading us directly to the man who killed her." Dad said rapidly, waiting impatiently for the website to load.

"Unless he got rid of it." Lestrade said.

"He didn't" John said certainly.

"Come on, come on. Quickly!" Dad cried at his laptop.

"Sherlock, dear. This taxi driver…" Mrs. Hudson came up the stairs again, looking very anxious.

"Mrs. Hudson, isn't it time for your evening soother?" Dad shouted. I swear, one day Mrs. Hudson will just snap and evict the three of us out of this flat.

"We need vehicles, get a helicopter." Dad told Lestrade, "We're gonna have to move fast. This phone battery won't last forever."

"We'll just have a map reference, not a name." Lestrade complained.

"It's a start!"

"Dad?" I called uncertainly, looking at his laptop over John's shoulder, Dad joined me.

"What is it? Where?"

"221 Baker Street." I breathed.

"How can it be here? How?"

"Well, maybe it was in the case when you brought it back and it fell our somewhere." Lestrade interjected, I let out a noise of exasperation,

"What, and neither of us noticed?"

"Anyway, we texted him and he called back." John said, I didn't know that he called back, how come Dad never tells me the important stuff?

"Guys, we're also looking for a mobile somewhere here, belonged to the victim…" Lestrade called out to his officers.

Only me and John noticed, but Dad slowly turned, took out his phone, and walked towards the door as if in a trance.

"Dad? Where are you going?"

"Fresh air. Just popping outside for a moment. Won't last long."

"Dad, I know you're lying." I called out.

"I'm fine." Dad said vaguely, and hurried down the stairs.

"Dad!"


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

"Great, he just walked off." I scoffed, John stared blankly at the door while I stalked towards the window. Dad's getting into the cab, fresh air indeed, nothing says fresh like a London black cab.

"I'll call the phone again." John suggested, I nodded as I watched the cab drive off to god knows where. "Is…. is he gone?"

"Yes." I said indifferently, still staring down at the road.

"He left." John proclaimed at the others, having failed to elicit a response from me, I can tell that I'm starting to creep him out, my eyes are glossed over, as I'm not really looking down, but looking in.

"He does that." Dear old Sally said, "He bloody left again."

Their conversation seemed muffled to me, and I ignored them. John's calling the phone, and it's ringing, it's not in here, I know it's not in here.

"I have to go." I said, and I shrugged on my coat.

"Wait a minute, where're you going?" Lestrade grabbed my arm, looking at me, "It's late, you're a young girl, go to bed."

"Thank you for your chivalric ideals, Lestrade," I said, snatching my arm away, "But I am hardly a damsel in distress. Come along, John, bring the computer."

"Does it matter? Does any of it? He's just a lunatic, and he'll always let you down, and you're wasting your time. All our time." Sally said loudly, making sure I overhear her talking to Lestrade. I clenched my hands together, what I would give to punch Sally in the face.

"Speaking of chivalric ideals," I turned towards Sally and Lestrade again as I waited for John to put on his coat, he's bringing his gun, a good idea, "You would make an excellent monster, Sally."

I watched as Sally's mouth open and close like a fish and walked out with John.

"Anything?" I asked John, sitting besides him in the cab.

"Uhhh…Not yet." John muttered, refreshing the page again, "Oh, he's at… turn left here."

"Let me see." I said, grabbing the tablet from John as the cab driver turned left, "he's at Roland-Kerr Further Education College. Why? Oh, it's brilliant."

"What's brilliant?" John asked, peering at the tablet.

"The serial killer."

"Wait, that's the serial killer? Your Dad just got into a cab with a serial killer?" John asked, looking around as if trying to find someone who agreed with him, since I clearly don't.

"Really, John, is this the first day you met my Dad?" I asked sarcastically, looking at him pointedly, "Oh, we're here!" The cab stopped, and I stepped out, leaving John to pay.

"I actually met him yesterday." John muttered, and then looked up to see the two identical buildings, "Shit."

"Nicely put, I'll go on the right, and you go on the left." I said, and sprinted towards the buildings,

"Hey, wait up!" John shouted, jogging behind me, "You can't go in there alone!" It actually sounded more like a question than a order, I whirled around, jogging backwards,

"John, I have a black belt in karate, I can take care of myself. This is hardly the time to be a gentlemen!" I then turned around and sprinted up the steps leading to the door. I could see John sigh and go up the other building in my mind. It seems like almost every man except Dad in my life has decided to be a gentlemen to me at the wrong time. Oh, and also Anderson, he's no gentleman, I wouldn't even go so far as call him a man.

I looked through the hallways, but there was no sign of them, Mrs. Hudson keeps Dad's shoes clean, and the cab driver, well, cab drivers generally don't walk around in mud. I would never admit it to Dad, but I felt panic slowly rising in my stomach, me and Dad, we are not sentimental people, but we're the only ones in the world, and we're the only people who understands each other, it would be terrible to lose him. I know that he won't die though, but I can only imagine what John is thinking right now.

I ran up the stairs, and came upon a lighted room, I peered through the window, Dad and that awful cabby was each holding a pill, they were moving the pills slowly towards their mouth, my breath hitched, and I briefly wondered whether I should crash in or wait for John to react. I can see John's silhouette through the window, breathing heavily, shoulders falling and rising rapidly.

"You're not bored now, are you?" The cab driver said, his pill right in front of his mouth, I watched from the side, Dad is not stupid enough to fall for something like that, so there's no reason for me to crash in there, strangle the cabbie with my too-weak-anyway fingers, and save Dad like a knight in a shining armour. So I watched. Suddenly, a gunshot rang out, the cab driver collapses and blood starts to slowly ooze out of him, so John decided to take matters into his own hands, I have to say I approve. I watched as Dad interrogated the cab driver, no doubt wanting to know whether he got the right pill. I back away silently, and run down the stairs just in time to meet John coming out of the other building.

"You didn't find you Dad?"

"No." I lied, I decided not to tell John about me witnessing it, "I heard the gunshot though, not hard to put two and two together."

"Yeah?"

"You shot the cab driver, didn't you?"

"How do you know that it's not the cabbie shooting Sherlock?"

"Please, you practically reek of gunpowder, and your hands are covered in it too."

"Oh." John said, and put his hands in his pockets. "I knew that." he said defensively.

"Yes, John, I'm sure you did." I said, but not sarcastically, I smiled at him, and he started smiling too until we are both chuckling like two maniacs, in front of a school in the middle of the night.

The aftermath was simple, Dad called Lestrade, but instead of rattling off the shooter's name (John Watson) along with some very impressive deductions, he didn't say anything, and joined us outside of the police tape.

"Good shot." Dad said, looking at John quietly,

"Must've been, through that window."

I rolled my eyes, there's really no point in trying to hide it from Dad.

"Well, you'd know."

"You alright?" I turned to John, placing a hand on his shoulder,

"Yes, of course."

"Well, you have just killed a man."

After a long pause, "Yes." John smiled, "But he wasn't a very nice man."

"And an awful cabbie." I added, and the three of us giggled, standing outside of the police tape, at a crime scene, giggling like three idiots.

"Stop! Stop, we can't giggle. It's a crime scene! Stop it!" John said, still giggling, we walked towards Donovan, and I absentmindedly heard John and Dad bickering about how he was going to take the pill, I smiled to myself, this is a start to a great friendship. A great friendship indeed.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

The day after the pink lady case, John started moving in. He didn't have a lot of possessions among him, only a few meagre boxes containing clothes, a few books, and several wartime souvenirs.

When I came home from school, which was boring as usual, I was confronted with Dad and John bickering in the living room,

"It's an experiment."

"It's the kitchen! It's where food goes!"

I snorted silently as I waltzed in and sat down on Dad's armchair, the two of them are in the kitchen, and John is pointing at Dad's experiments on the table, one of them has the color of laundry detergent, but judging by the fumes it's probably not that. Two bags of shopping are sitting on the table, the petri dishes around them squashed together, surrounding the shopping bags like refugees surrounding food trucks, I silently chuckled at the mental image of petri dishes scurrying away from Dad in horror.

"What are you two children bickering about?" I asked, raising my voice to be heard.

"Oh hi Sophia, when did you get home?" Dad said, and used me as an excuse to escape the kitchen, John silently fumed in his stead as he watched Dad open his laptop and started typing.

"John, don't get your panties into a twist, what's the matter?" I asked, though I could guess exactly what the matter is and I really don't care that much.

"There are fingers in the kettle, I nearly made tea with it!" John huffed indignantly, I sighed and walked over to the kettle, there are indeed several fingers in there, and it's starting to attract flies. I wrinkled my nose in disgust, and put the kettle, along with the fingers, into the fridge.

"Why did you do that?"

"It's going to attract bugs." I said, like it's the most obvious thing in the world, and it is.

"But… How am I going to make tea?" I rolled my eyes, really, we're British and all, but John Watson just has an unusual love for tea. I reached up to the cupboards and brought down a dusty stove top kettle, and thrusted it at John.

"Here. I trust that you know how to open the stove?"

"I do." John mumbled, and started his familiar and much practiced tea making process.

I sat down opposite to Dad, stared down at my math homework, then picked up a book on the different types of soil from a stack and started reading. John walked over, with freshly made tea, and placed one in front of me,

"Ta."

"Don't you have to do homework, Sophia?" John asked, I looked at him without speaking, he tried to stare at me the same way I'm staring at him, but I am much more unnerving than he is, so he looked down again, "How old are you again?"

"Sixteen." I said, looking down at my book again.

"Sixteen, right." John said, nodding, still standing in the middle of the room like an idiot, and sipped his tea, "Man, I feel old."

"You are old." I mumbled under my breath.

"Sorry?"

"Nothing, John." I smiled innocently at him, he looked at me, narrowing his eyes, but didn't say anything. I can see Dad smiling out of the corner of my eye, eventually John started smiling as well. That's how Mrs. Hudson found us, the three of us smiling like idiots.

"Sophia, there's a girl downstairs, said she's your friend."

"Who?"

All three of us turned to the door, and lo and behold, it's none other than Cassie. Her long black hair is braided, she's wearing some sort of skirt/pants thing, and light makeup dusted her eyelids.

"Sophia!" She squealed, and ran forward to envelope me into a hug, I just sat there, my book attached to my hands, both limp in my lap.

"Cassie!" I said, a smile frozen on my face, "How did you find me?"

"It took me forever, Soph." She said, tossing her braid back and then turned to look at John and Dad. After a moment of consideration, she faced Dad, "You must be Mr. Holmes, you look exactly like Sophia." She all but gushed, Dad nodded and smiled, or rather grimaced, at her. She then turned to John, cocking her head, trying to think of an explanation.

"That's John Watson." I stepped in, "He's my Dad's…colleague."

"Oh, hi, Mr. Watson."

"Nice to meet you, Cassie, and it's doctor"

"Oh, you're a doctor?" Cassie looked like a three year old who has never seen anyone other than her parents before, her eyes are wide with curiosity, with a smile wider than her face. John looked extremely uncomfortable with a wide eyed teenage girl staring at him, I enjoyed his uncomfortableness for a few seconds longer and rescued him.

"Cassie, what are you doing here?" I asked, the smile still plastered on my face like old wallpaper, Cassie turned from John, who looked immensely relieved, and she face me, and you can probably guess how I feel.

"Oh, Matt's parents are gone for the weekend, and you just have to come to this party, Jack all but threatened me to make you come." She said, so that explains the makeup, as well as the intricate braid, I looked at her like she was insane. "Oh, come on, Sophia. You have to come! They will never let me go if you don't show up!"

"And I care because?"

"Sophia!"She whined, dragging the ah sound, "Just come! It will be fun!"

"Why don't you go, Sophia?" Dad piped up, I glared at him, this is not the time to start caring about his daughter's social life, "It's not like you have anything better to do. Besides, it's a great experiment."

"See! Your Dad agrees!" Cassie squealed, elated at having permission from my father, who looks out for me so so so much, thank you so much, Dad. "Let's go to your room, I'll help you decide what to wear!"

I continued to glare at Dad while Cassie dragged me out of the room, and up the stairs.

The next hour consisted of Cassie rifling through my closet and picking out outfits for me, after a few minutes of arguing, I consented to putting on a little makeup, which I only have for disguise purposes, and she looked through my room while I did that.

"Sophia, this is beautiful! Where did you get this?" She asked, holding out a case of blue butterflies.

"The trashcan." I lied, they were actually poisonous butterflies which Dad caught with a net from a meadow, the image of Dad chasing after butterflies still appeared on my mind whenever I saw those butterflies, it was hilarious. He was going to throw them out, but I saved them from the tragic fate of being thrown out, though being experimented on by Dad is not pleasant, and preserved them.

Cassie looked confused, but she had learnt long ago to just go with whatever I say.

"Bye, Mr. Holmes. Dr. Watson."

"Help me." I said dryly.

The two men looked up to see us, Dad returned to his computer immediately, while John smiled,

"Have fun, Sophia, you look nice."

I continued to glare at John, who looked away and picked up my discarded book, how I yearn to go back to that book, if only I could get rid of Cassie!

"Come on, Sophia, we're going to be late!"

"That would be wonderful, can I miss it too?"

"Let's go!"

Of course I could see that nothing even remotely good will come out of this, and I know that this is really just a thinly veiled attempt to get Matt and I together, and really, would they ever stop trying? Well, at least I can think of something to experiment there.

"Aren't you excited, Sophia?"

"I can barely contain myself."


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

"This is a bad idea."

"Oh come on, Sophia! It won't be that bad!"

We are currently standing at the front door of Matt's house, the door is practically vibrating and pulsing along with the music, whoops and screams occasionally float out of the door to reach our ears. I estimate that the neighbours can put up with this for at most another two hours.

Cassie pressed the doorbell with an air of finality.

"I don't think anyone will hear the doorbell in that noise." I drawled, leaning against the wall.

"Have some optimism!" Cassie said, though she sounded doubtful herself. She pushed the doorbell again, after a few moments of waiting, she started knocking, softly at first, then growing progressively louder until she was basically throwing herself at the door.

"Oh, come on. This hardly calls for proper social etiquette about thresholds." I said, and opened the door before she can bring the door down with her knocking, "Unless you are a vampire."

"Yeah, like the vampire would be me." She said, smirking. The smirk melted off her face the instance we crossed the threshold, conclusion-neither of us are vampires, you can tell that it used to be a very homely, cozy living room, but not it's filled with dancing teenagers, spilled liquid and paper cups litter the floor, there's a guy passed out on the sofa, and music blasted from the surround sound system.

"Hey girls! When did you guys get here?" Jack emerged from the group of senseless dancers, obviously drunk and holding a paper cup, "Good job, Cass. You managed to bring the Ice Queen."

"Jack, go home, you're drunk." I said, eyeing him, he had been drinking for at least an hour already, he stayed up all night yesterday, hadn't showered in 28 hours and it's starting to show despite his excessive use of deodorant.

"What did she do to convince you to come, eh?" He continued, not heeding my advice, and leaned in so close that I can smell his tacky aftershave, "Or did you finally succumb to Matt's charms?"

"I think the real question here is how did you convince Matt to throw this party, this has your stale cologne sprayed all over it, did you bribe him?"

"Sophia…" Cassie said, she didn't like it when I fight, especially to bug guys, even though I always win.

"Jack! Who are you talking to? And my parents are going to kill me if they ever find out, you said that the party won't go too out of hand!" the man of the hour appeared from the kitchen holding a valuable crystal vase as well as an antique teapot from an expensive china set, obviously rescuing both items from the Jack's rowdy friends.

"Look who Cass managed to drag here," Jack said proudly, as if me being here is all his doing, which in a way it was, but if I really didn't want to, even the Queen can't make me do anything.

"Who?" By some miracle, Matt still couldn't see us, either because of Jack's large frame or the fact that he's not wearing his glasses, most likely the latter.

"Your favourite person, the Ice Queen."

I rolled my eyes as Matt instantly started to stutter, and nearly dropped the teapot when he tried to straighten his wrinkle free shirt.

"Relax, Matt, I'm not going to eat you."

"I'm sure he would want that, eh?" Jack said, waggling his eyebrows and elbowing Cassie, who hid a smile, I rolled my eyes again, and Matt turned an impressive shade of pink.

"I suggest you start shooing everyone out of the house in about twenty minutes, there's no way the neighbours, especially the 80 year old couple, are going to put up with this," I said, gesturing around at the loud noise, "and if they call the police, there's no way you could keep this quite."

"Sophia, stop being a kill joy, have some fun! Dance!" Jack said, and he immediately took Cassie's hand and half lifted, held dragged, and half led Cassie to the living room to "dance," quotation marks because Jack has very different ideas of dancing than normal people, he thinks that dancing, no matter what kind, involves touching as much of the partner as you can.

"Do you really think that the neighbours will call the police?" Matt looked very nervous, and he looked strangely naked without his glasses, and he's squinting at me. Jack stole his glasses, with the twisted logic that if Matt can't see clearly, he won't be able to think clearly, I'm a little surprised that his logic actually worked, judging by the party.

"Why don't we wait and find out?"

"Sophia… Just…" Matt whined, clearly distressed, he deliberated with himself for a few moments, and then resolutely walked to the stereo, turning it off. The crowd let out the disappointed aww sound, and Matt got ready to shoo everyone out, though it would be unsuccessful anyway, when Jack sauntered up to him, pressed him against the stereo with his bulk, and turned on the music again. People started to dance, but Jack remained where he was, squeezing the much smaller Matt against the stereo,

"Let me go, Jack!" Matt said indignantly, and reached out his hand to the power button once again,

"What do you think you're doing, huh?" Jack said, it's clear that he's had another few drinks since our last meeting, how he managed to have enough stupidity to keep drinking is beyond me, "This party is not over until I say so, you hear me?"

"This is my party! It's my house!" Matt said, although he seemed a little scared. I wonder where Matt's friends are, he doesn't really associate with Jack at school, all of Jack's posse is here, but none of Matt's friends are here. It's very clear exactly whose party this is.

"Shut up, Matt, do you want me to break your jaw?" Jack threatened, raising his hands and flexing his fingers into a fist and then out again. It's actually quite impressive, Matt shrank into the stereo, but his expression is not one of terror. This is not the time to finally start standing up for yourself, Matt, he's drunk and there's no one around to stop him from killing you, except me.

"This party is over." Matt said, in a brave attempt to be resolute, and tried to edge away between the stereo and Jack with as much dignity as he can muster, which is actually not that much, but it's still an impressive amount considering the circumstances, I wonder if Matt also had something to drink.

"You really want that broken jaw, don't you?" Jack snarled, and snatched Matt by his collar, yanking him back and placing him in front of him, Cassie let out a small gasp beside me, several people turned their heads to see the commotion as Jack brought a fist down and collided with Matt's cheek, the loud skin on skin contact sound echoed across the room.

I watched as Matt slid to the floor, the fire inside his eyes distinguishing, and he started to shift into the typical defensive position of curling up and bringing his hands around his head. Normally, even though Jack is a bully, he wouldn't continue beating up people after they collapse, or in Matt's case, lose their dignity, but he's drunk and he's trying to impress the crowd now gathered around the two of them, so he started kicking Matt, hard. Cassie gasped again, and started as if to move forward to stop Jack, I beat her to it. I'm not sure why I did it, I guess I don't want the lovely Sally to get wind of me getting into a trouble making party, it would give her a field day.

"Jack, stop it, you're drunk, go home." I said, walking up to him and staring at him coolly, he towered over me height-wise, but no one can actually tower over a Holmes.

"Aww, isn't this cute? The Ice Queen came to defend her loyal servant."

I rolled my eyes, again, Jack seemed to have determined that our "conversation" is over, because he turned back to Matt and went into the "I'm gonna beat you up like the average bully I am" position, I grabbed his raised fist.

"You are drunk." I said, emphasising each word, "Go home."

He looked a little bewildered that a "weak little girl" like me would dare grab his hand, but he recovered quickly, or as quickly as his muddled and already slow brain could, "I ain't gonna take orders from some frigid." Cassie gasped, as did some other kids in the crowd, I merely made a show of rolling my eyes again. He shook his hand in an attempt to shake me off, I held on, and then let go after a moment, he reeled backwards with his own momentum.

"Now, don't expect me to not punish you just because you're a girl."

"I don't expect your dull brain to be capable of anything other than picking on someone half your size." I said, raising my hands in a mock surrender, "And I apparently fit your quota perfectly."

"Oh, you-" He didn't finish his sentence, everyone knew what he was going to say anyway. He lurched forward, his fist raised, I narrowed my eyes, is he seriously going to attempt this? I tossed my hair back, merely for the amusement of the audience, and stepped out of the way at the last second, leaving Jack to slam headfirst into the wall. Really, he fought like a bull. After about two times of this, I kneed him in the groin, so that Matt might just have a chance to hide this from his parents, a Jack shaped hole in the wall would be hard to explain, Jack collapsed on the ground, and I stared down at him coolly. I know that everyone is probably staring at me, I looked up to meet their gazes.

"Party's over." I announced clearly. This time, there is no disappointed aww sounds, I can tell that everyone is itching to get on their phones and tell the whole world of what happened here, the people all left single-filed and obediently. I can see Matt's neighbours looking at the leaving teenagers with a look of distaste clear on their face.

"Sophia… You're leaving? Just like that?" Cassie asked, she was kneeling between Matt, who refused to meet my eyes, and Jack, who was passed out from slamming his head into the wall so many times, he may be dull enough to have an iron skull, but unfortunately for him, he doesn't. I shrugged on my coat.

"Wake Jack up every two hours to make sure that he doesn't have a concussion," I said, as I flapped the collar on my coat, but unlike my attention seeking father, I did not turn it up to "ward off the cold." I turned to Matt, "Clean this up, and go to your neighbours first thing tomorrow with some chocolates, and tell them how you regret your decision to throw a party and how much you apologise for the inconvenience you may have caused, they won't tell your parents if you do this right."

I turned towards the door and pressed down on the handle, Matt muttered a faint thanks, and I walked out into the night.


End file.
